


A Matter of... Time?

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: :), Crack, F/M, Snake innuendo, spn humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: This piece of work - not quite sure what to call it, a little crack-ish maybe? was written for @percywinchester27 Ana’s PJO Quotes Challenge! The quote is in bold.





	A Matter of... Time?

 

You groaned as you opened your eyes, the sun blinding you. Something… something large, alive and breathing, was pushing against your face, and you held your breath for a moment before it snorted and sent you skittering backward in a panic. You raised your eyes to see a white stallion, who proceeded to paw politely at the ground, tossing his head a little as if to greet you.

You fought to disentangle your feet from the… skirts? You looked down at yourself and your mouth opened in shock as you tried to absorb what you were seeing. You were wearing some kind of fancy silk gown, yards and yards of frothy cloth tangled around your legs. And then it dawned on you. “Dean? Dean! Are you all right?”

A loud moan was all you received in answer, and then, “What the… Y/N? What the hell is going on?” You finally managed to bunch your skirts up enough to stand, turning towards the direction of the noise, Dean’s cursing and some sort of clanking and banging of metal.

Oh, shit. “Dean! Why are you wearing a suit of armor?”

“Well, I don’t fucking know, but I could use a little help here!”

***

“What?” Dean was looking at you as if he expected an answer. Apparently you had made a noise as you were reading, disgusted.

“People are just… how can someone just randomly… Okay, this guy, just trying to spend some peaceful time in the hills, hiking and camping, all by himself, not bothering anybody. Just doing his thing. And someone beat him half to death. In the middle of the woods somewhere!” You looked at Dean, frustrated. “I wish we could just take over for a while. Just line the assholes up and shoot them or something.  **Don’t you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?”**

Dean smiled wryly, hanging his head a little as he shook it.  **“Umm… no. Me running the world would be kind of a nightmare.”**  He looked at you again. “Robbery? Gang thing?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t get that far.” You went back to the article, from the Rapid City Journal, and Dean watched your face as your eyes widened. “Oh.”

“What, oh?”

“That’s why it popped on my search filter. All sorts of weird.”

“Our kind of weird?”

“Maybe. I think we’re heading to South Dakota.”

***

“Are we sure this guy isn’t just looney-tunes?”

You couldn’t help the smile that teased at your lips as Sam berated his brother. “Dean, you might at least want to make an attempt at not being completely rude.”

“The guy says he got sent back in time, come on.”

You laughed softly. “Dean, you got sent back in time – remember? And into the future!”

“Yeah, well – that was angels. They aren’t so much overly involved down here any more. They never just randomly sent people back, anyway. And we killed Chronos, the god of time. So – that leaves crazy. Or something that causes crazy.”

“Or something we don’t know about yet, Dean. Just – try to keep an open mind, okay?” Sam sighed as Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah… open mind. Goes both ways, Sammy. You might have to accept that the guy’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal.”

“Hey, you two,” you interjected from the back seat. “Are you gonna argue the entire trip? Because if you are, I’ll get my headphones out.”

 

After getting settled at a local motel in Rapid City, Dean drove you to the Regional Behavioral Health Center. You headed inside, playing the part of a family member visiting, while Sam and Dean left to check out local law enforcement. Your heels echoed in the empty hall as you walked to the nurses’ station, waiting patiently for someone to acknowledge your presence.

“May I help you?” You smiled as you turned to face the woman behind you, laden with an armful of files.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here to visit my cousin, Darrel. Darrel Easom? He was checked in a couple of days ago.”

She smiled and made her way behind the desk, plopping the paperwork down and sitting behind the computer. “Let me just get his room number for you, it’ll take just a moment.”

You paused outside the door, which was open just a crack. With a deep breath, you knocked and peeked your head in. “Darrel?”

“Yeah.” His voice was tired, raspy, and you entered, closing the door quietly behind you.

“Hi, Darrel. I’m Y/N.” You smiled and approached the bed, skillfully hiding your shock at his appearance. The man was in a cast shoulder to wrist, a bar holding his arm at an angle, and his face was bruised and swollen, stitches over one eye and beneath the other. “I just need to ask you a few questions about what happened to you last weekend.”

He rolled his eyes as best he could and sighed. “So you can add your signature to the pile that says I’m crazy? Sure, go ahead.”

“I’m not here to judge, Darrel. My colleagues and I are studying supernatural phenomena, and your story is just one of several that we’re researching. I’d just like to try and find out what happened to you.” He looked at you, still doubtful, but finally nodded.

“So – who did this to you?”

He stared up at you, his expression defensive, but you met his gaze steadily. “Fine. You wanna know who did this to me? I’ll tell you.” His jaw worked, and you saw a hint of fear in his eyes before he looked away, staring straight ahead. “Vikings.”

***

“Vikings?”

You couldn’t help but smile at their incredulous reaction. “Yeah. Vikings. And just wait.” You pulled your phone from your bag, along with the cord, and Dean laughed.

“What, you’re gonna call them?” You just grinned back at him, opening the laptop on the table in front of you and connecting the cord.

“He got video on his phone. Not much, and it’s not super clear, but he managed to cram his phone into his pocket before they beat the shit out of him.” You loaded the video clip that Darrel had reluctantly sent to you and pulled it up on the larger screen, hitting play as the boys crowded in behind you to watch.

The footage was a blur of bearded angry men, swords and garbled shouts, fur and chain mail and bloodied faces. You watched several times, finally shutting it off and turning to face Sam and Dean. “How the hell… how does this happen?”

“Did he… go there? Or did they come here?”

You scrunched your brow at Sam’s question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean – did he really time-travel? Was he in a strange place, or did something bring the Vikings to where he was?”

“He said he was hiking in the hills, lots of trees. He was on the phone to his sister, made some comment to her about being ‘close to nature,’ that it made him feel like he was wild and free – like a Viking. Said he’d been watching the TV series, so it just popped into his head. Then he said he felt weird, kind of dizzy, and heard strange sounds, like waves crashing on the shore. When his vision cleared, he said he was on a dark, stormy beach, and then – Vikings.”

“So… trickster? Cursed object?” Dean offered, shrugging.

You leaned back in the chair, looking up at Dean as his hand came to rest on your shoulder. “Your guess is as good as mine. I told Darrel there might be someone coming with a few more questions. Oh, and I managed to get his address from the nurses’ station.”

“Nice,” Dean grinned, giving your shoulder a squeeze, and you blushed a little.

“I could go back, talk to him, see if we can figure out if it was the area he was in or something he was carrying with him. If you guys want to go check out his place?” Sam offered as Dean backed up, giving you room to stand as you both nodded in agreement. You grabbed your duffle and closed yourself in the bathroom to change out of the suit and heels you’d worn to the Center.

After dropping Sam off, you and Dean set off for Darrel’s apartment a few blocks away. Dean’s voice startled you from your thoughts, and you looked towards him, unsure of what he had said. “Huh?”

“Are you okay? I mean, you’ve been kinda out of it for a couple of days now. Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No! No, of course not. I’m just…” you stammered. He hadn’t done anything. Well, no more than normal. Maybe it was the dream you’d had about him a couple of nights ago that had jolted you awake with the sound of your own voice moaning his name.  You closed your eyes for a moment, shoving the thoughts and feelings about that whole subject way down deep, forcing your mind to focus on the case, on Darrel Easom. The poor guy had looked confused, terrified about what had happened to him, and you needed to stop it from happening to someone else. “Really, Dean – there’s nothing wrong. I promise.”

Dean shot you a doubtful sideways glance, but stopped questioning you – at least for the time being. He pulled up and parked in front of a dilapidated old building, and the two of you headed into the front entrance.

“He’s fourth floor - #42,” you said, and Dean looked up the stairway.

“Of course he is,” he grumbled, and you both made your way up the creaking staircase, heaving a sigh of relief when you reached the fourth floor.  

It wasn’t hard to find Darrel’s camping equipment. His sister had dropped everything off, it sat in a pile right next to the door. “Careful,” you cautioned as Dean began to open the backpack. “Maybe we should, I don’t know, wear gloves or something?”

“Not sure that would help. I’m gonna try to just see what’s in there, not touch anything.” He turned the beam of his small flashlight to the inside of the bag, and you leaned in to look with him.

“Cursed granola bars, maybe?” you joked, and Dean smiled. “Maybe we should just take this back to the motel?”

“Yeah. Maybe Sam will have more information. Let’s go.”

You locked the apartment on your way out and led the way down the stairs, leaving Dean to carry Darrel’s backpack. As you turned to head down the second set of steps, you caught your foot on a loose board, and you cried out as you pitched forward.

“Y/N!” Dean shouted, grabbing for one flailing arm and yanking you, a little painfully, back to your feet beside him. “Shit, you okay?”

“That was too close. Not the way I want to die,” you managed to puff out, your heart pounding in your chest. You looked up at Dean’s concerned face and smiled. “My knight in shining armor.”

A strange, intense pressure built around you, seeming to suck all the air from your body and leaving you dizzy, your vision going dark as you and Dean cried out to each other. Then nothing, darkness and oblivion.

***

“This is your fault!” He was struggling to stand, sounding like a bag of tin cans had been dropped down a flight of stairs, and you reached to help him clumsily rise to his feet. He was encased in a full suit of armor, minus the helmet, which laid a few yards away.

“How is this my fault?” You looked at him, incredulous, trying not to smile as he gestured to his metal garb.

“Knight in shining armor? Ring any bells?”

“Like I wanted this to happen? Have you looked at me? Did I wish to be Princess Floofy Dress?”

His eyes focused on you for the first time, lingering over your squeezed and squashed and almost completely exposed breasts. “I might have wished for it if I’d known what the costume looked like,” he said, eyebrows raised, and you smacked his shoulder, wincing at the impact.

“Ouch. Asshole.” You looked around, hands on hips, trying to ignore Dean’s drooling over your bosom. “So – now what?”

“I got nothin’.”

“Well, obviously the cursed object is in the backpack, right?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean snarked back, and the air-sucking, dizzying feeling was back instantly, spinning you into a black abyss as you grabbed frantically for Dean’s gauntlet.

***

You opened your eyes to see hideous carpet beneath your feet, and raised them to see even more hideous wallpaper. “Dean?” you said softly, and he squeezed your hand.

“Right here.”

“Interesting.” A voice you’d never heard before startled you into turning, and your eyes widened as you saw before you none other than Sherlock Holmes, pipe in hand, staring quizzically back at you.

You turned your head to look at Dean, eyes scanning over his brown tweed suit. “This one’s on you, Winchester.”

“Watson, we seem to have visitors,” Holmes called out, and you watched, mouth open, as a shorter, stockier man entered the room.

“Oh, didn’t even hear a knock.”

“Well, that’s because they didn’t knock. Just sort of – appeared. Strange indeed.”

You turned back to stare at Holmes, bewildered. “But – you’re fictional.”

The famous detective sniffed, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “Well – where does that leave you, then?”

Dean grabbed your arm, leaning to whisper into your ear. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

You smiled uncomfortably at the fictional characters in front of you. “Excuse us for a moment.” You let Dean pull you towards the door and out into the hall, closing the door behind you.

“This is not a time travel thing. This is a – fucked-up librarian curse or something. What the hell?” His eyes scanned over your form-fitting Victorian gown, then back up to meet your gaze.

“I don’t know. And I have no idea how to get back home. Dean, I’m scared.” You felt a little clutch of panic in your belly, and Dean readjusted Darrel’s backpack on his shoulder, reaching for your hand.

“It’s been taking us places that we say a phrase about, right? We just need to figure out what phrase gets us back home.” He frowned, glaring at you. “And don’t say that one, I don’t wanna go to Oz.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little, nodding in agreement. “Okay. Well, I’m open for suggestions.”

You jumped as the door jerked open, Sherlock’s face appearing in the space. “I thought you’d never ask.” He waved you back inside, and you perched on the edge of the sofa, your leg jumping nervously as Dean sat next to you, giving your hand a squeeze.  “So, your story is that you say a phrase, and then you’re transported to whatever setting that invokes?”

“That’s the only thing we can figure. We think we’ve got a cursed object in this backpack.” Dean stared at Sherlock as he pursed his lips, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.

“Very interesting.” He stood suddenly, speaking brusquely to Dean. “Come, Mr….”

“Winchester.”

“Mr. Winchester, come with me.” Dean shouldered the backpack and moved to join him as you stood up to follow, but the detective shook his head. “Stay here where it’s safe. Relatively, at any rate, since we don’t really know what’s triggering these – little excursions.”

You stopped, disbelief on your face, hands on your hips.

Dean held up a hand. “Now, Y/N, don’t get all bent outta shape. At least if something happens and I – time warp, or whatever – again, you’ll be safe here and I’ll know where to find you.”

“Listen, Dean, don’t go all ‘Me, Tarzan – you, Jane’ on me!” Your raised voice sounded hollow at the end, echoing, and Dean rushed towards you, panic on his face, as the room began to blur.

“Damn it!” he shouted, and you felt him grab your arm before total blackout hit.

***

Your eyesight gradually cleared, along with the dizziness, and you slowly opened your eyes. It was  warm, no – scratch that, hot – and humid, and you could see nothing but leaves overhead. “Dean? Dean, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not fucking okay.” You sat up slowly, your jaw dropping open as you saw him.

“Oh, my God.”

“Shut up!” He was pissed off, glaring at you, and as close to naked as you’d ever seen him. Your mouth went a little dry as you finally forced your eyes upward to meet his. “If you say one word, I swear to God…” he almost growled, and you try to stop staring.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Dean, I didn’t…”

“Didn’t mean to time machine us to the jungle and put me in a fucking loincloth? Yeah, I get that.”  He turned his back, and you glanced around. You were in a tree house of some sort, a pretty nice one, actually. You let your eyes move back to what they really wanted to look at. Dean’s hair was long and shaggy, almost like Sam’s, and he was clothed in nothing but a loincloth made from some kind of animal skin. He was barefoot, his strong legs, back and shoulders tan and freckled and… He whirled around, fury contorting his features, and you dropped your gaze immediately.

And you – you were wearing another stupid Victorian-style dress, but this one was well-ventilated, torn and ragged from whatever disaster had put you here, you’d guess. You stood up, brushing leaves from your clothes, just taking a breath to speak when Dean moved towards you suddenly. You flinched back from the murderous expression on his face, his eyes narrowed, as he reached around you. After a flurry of motion, he yanked a huge snake from above and behind you, tossing it out of the tree. A small whimper escaped your lips as you stood there in shock, then closed your eyes tight. “Thank you,” you managed, and you heard him blow out a breath.

“You okay?”

You were trembling, panic beginning to bubble inside you, defying your attempts at control. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, we have to get out of here, Dean! Say anything, take us anywhere! I can’t…”

You felt his arms around you, pulling you tight against him, soothing. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay, we’ll figure it out.”

You stood there accepting his comfort for a few moments, getting your feet back under you. When you started to notice your hands on his skin, the swell of muscle rippling in his back as he hugged you, you blew out a deep breath and stepped back, your hands moving to his chest. You could feel something prodding at your hip, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Please tell me you’re just happy to see me – because if that’s another snake, I’m running all the way to Cleveland.” You raised your eyes slowly to his face, and the smirk he was trying to smother won out.

“Yeah, sorry, this uh… loincloth thing doesn’t hide much.”

“I – um – noticed that.” You smiled up at him, loving the way he was blushing, and stepped back a little further, winking. “Maybe another time, Tarzan. Cheetah could be home any minute.” He snorted a little, and you giggled, but your smiles gradually faded. “Well, so much for the world’s greatest detective helping us. What are we gonna do, Dean?” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Hey. Come on, sweetheart, it’s not so bad. At least nobody’s tried to kill us yet, like Darrell, right? I mean we could be in a medieval torture dungeon somewhere.” He froze, your horrified eyes meeting his as you grabbed hold of each other’s arms. “Fuck.”

***

“Ow.” You groaned, rubbing the back of your head as you forced yourself to sit up and look around. You were on a filthy stone floor, littered with straw and dirt, bars caging you in. You gave yourself a quick glance to take in your ragged appearance, your clothing practically in tatters. Apparently you had hit your head on the floor when you landed, and you winced as you rubbed at it again. “Dean, are you all right?” you gritted out between your teeth as you rose to your feet. He grimaced with pain as he sat up, then looked up at you anxiously.

“Are you hurt? Shit, that landing sucked,” he rasped out as he climbed to his feet.

“I’m okay. Bump on the head.”

“Let me see,” he said gruffly, approaching you and turning you away from him, his fingers running over your skull.

“Ouch! Dean!”

“Damn it, hold still!” he scolded as he parted your hair, looking at the good-sized lump. “Wow, we’re lucky you didn’t need stitches. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m as okay as I can be, considering we’re behind bars and probably about to be tortured!” You turned to face him, your fear seeping through your anger, your lip trembling a little.

He didn’t answer you for a moment, just looked down at the floor, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Y/N. Whatever happens, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He looked into your eyes, and you had to slide yours away, unable to face the intensity in his. “At least we’re in here together. We just need to figure out how to get back.”

“Yeah. That’s worked out really well so far.” You plopped down on the rough wooden bench that was fastened to the wall and put your face in your hands. Before you had the chance to speak again, he was beside you, an arm around you, and you laid over on his shoulder, suddenly exhausted beyond belief.

“Well, well, isn’t this sweet.” Your heart was suddenly in your throat as you looked up to see your jailer – at least, you assume that’s who he was – standing in front of the cell.

Dean’s jaw clenched as he stared defiantly at the filthy, leering man unlocking your cell door. “Yeah, we’re a little busy. Why don’t you make an appointment with the butler.”

The man grinned, flashing a mouthful of rotting, blackened teeth. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this. His Lordship’s got a few questions for you.”

“What makes you think I’m gonna answer?”

The man sneered in your direction, and you shrank back against Dean. “Well, I suppose we could start with her instead?”

Dean stood up, fists clenching. “You’ll start with me. And if I have anything to say about it, you’ll end with me, asshole.” He raised his chin, contempt in his eyes, and the guard’s smile, such as it was, faded.

“Move your arse, ya filth.” Dean turned to look at you one more time, his expression softening at the fear in your eyes.

“I’ll be back, sweetheart. Promise.”

“Then it’ll be your turn – sweetheart.” The foul bastard aimed his words at you, then shoved roughly at Dean as he marched him from the room. You sat there, stubbornly refusing to let the tears in your eyes overflow as you tried not to think about what they were going to do to Dean.

Time dragged by, and you busied yourself by searching your cell, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. You managed to wriggle an iron nail loose from the bench, but it was built to withstand prisoners much more hefty than you trying to break it apart. You slumped down, leaning your back against the wall as your brain spun in hopeless circles, trying to think of something that would get you home. Of course, the backpack containing the cursed object was now in your captor’s hands, which made things even worse, if that was possible.

You heard noises, some of them grunts of pain as the guard forced Dean back to the dungeon. As they came through the door, you rose to your feet, shocked, then furious as you saw him, his face and torso covered with cuts and bruises, caked with blood. Dean’s tormentor unlocked the door, shoving him roughly into the cell, where he collapsed as the iron bars swung shut once again. “Bastard!” you screamed at the man’s retreating back, and his laughter echoed back as he left without a word. “Dean! Oh, my god, Dean…” You ripped off a section of what used to be the skirt of your dress, going to your knees beside him on the floor. You helped him get his head to your lap, dabbing carefully at the blood oozing from his many wounds.

“I’m okay, Y/N,” he managed to whisper. He forced out a parched laugh. “These assholes got nothin’ on Alastair.”

“Oh, Dean… And we can’t even accidentally wish ourselves out of here, they’ve got the backpack.”

“Yeah. But now I know where it is. We just need to break out of here and get it, then we’ll pick somewhere nice and sunny, maybe a beach, someplace that serves cold drinks…”

“Can you get up? We should get you off the floor.” He looked up at you, a crooked smile lifting one side of his mouth, managing to look rakish in spite of his swollen right eye.

“Pretty comfy right here, actually.” You leaned down and kissed him gently, carefully, and when you lifted your head, you realized what you had done. Dean’s one open eye blinked slowly, fixed on you, and you shoved your hair out of your face, suddenly nervous.

“I have a nail.” You reached down into the top of your dress, where you had hidden it, and pulled it out to show him. “From the bench. Maybe we can pick the lock?”

Dean smiled, or winced, maybe both – it was hard to tell. “That’s my girl.”

After several minutes’ struggle, you had Dean sitting on the bench, propped up against the wall. You moved away from him reluctantly, wishing you could do more for his injuries. You began to work at the lock with your scavenged nail, difficult since it was just a hair too short, but as you were ready to drop to the floor in exhausted frustration, it gave with a loud click. “Dean,” you said softly, “it worked.”

He nodded, sending what passed for a smile your way, his face drawn and pale. “Good. Let’s get the hell out of here.” You opened the door slowly, sighing with relief when you could make your way through without much noise. You and Dean quickly searched for whatever you could use as weapons, but there wasn’t much to find. Dean had an iron bar of some kind, and you picked up a scrap of board, keeping your nail in your hand as well. “This way,” Dean whispered, and you followed, your heart pounding in your chest.

You made your way down a long, dark hall, the floor almost slimy beneath your feet, and you almost ran into Dean as he came to a sudden halt in front of you. He put his hand behind him, and you gave it a squeeze, following close behind as he crept forward. You could see the lone guard, slumped asleep in his chair, as you entered the room. Dean nodded towards the corner nearest you, and you moved slowly to where the backpack dangled from a hook in the wall. As you moved back to Dean, backpack in hand, the guard stirred, then jumped to his feet, shouting. “Help! Prisoners escaping!”

Dean reached for you, jerking you close, his arm tight around your waist. “No shit, Sherlock!” he yelled, and the confused guard faded into swirling black.

***

When your head stopped spinning, a bemused Dr. Watson was helping you from the floor. “Ah. Our visitors have returned.” He smiled a little stiffly at you as he helped you to the sofa, then turned to look at Dean. “Holmes is out at the moment. But you look as if you may need a little medical attention? May I… help?”

“I’m fine,” Dean answered as you said simultaneously, “Thank you!” Dean scowled at you, but you stared back at him, unflinching. “I wasn’t able to even clean his wounds, Dr. If you could help him…”

“Of course. Please, come with me, Mr…. Winchester, was it?”

You sat perched on the sofa, on the edge of exhaustion and despair. At least Dean had known how to get you to safety, but how the hell were you going to get home? You had no idea how long you sat there, deep in thought, before Dr. Watson’s voice startled you.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I just, umm – Mr. Winchester is resting in the bedroom, and he asked to see you. I did what I could for him, cleaned and bandaged the worst of his wounds. He’ll recover nicely, I assure you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Thank you so much.” He nodded a little self-consciously, smiling, and you stood. “I’ll just go check on him, then.”

“You should rest, too.”

You looked at the kind-hearted man over your shoulder, sending a grateful smile his way, then left the room. The bedroom was just down the hall, and you rapped quietly on the door before opening it and stepping inside. Dean was lying on the bed, bandages wrapped around his chest, belly and both arms. “This is ridiculous. If I was at home, I’d put in a few stitches and be done instead of walking around like a fucking mummy.”

You couldn’t help but smile, and his lips curved in spite of himself, even though he rolled his eyes. “Well, they just don’t have suture kits lying around like we do, Dean. At least you’re not gonna die of some nasty infection.” You sigh, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “He said I should get some rest. Mind if I join you? Maybe we’ll dream a way out of this mess.”

He patted the bed beside him. “Yeah, come on in. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

You nodded, then laid down next to him. “Me, too.” The last thing you remembered before drifting off was Dean’s fingers lacing through yours.

 

When you woke some time later, you found yourself cuddled up against Dean’s side, his arm around you. You lifted your head a little to find him looking at you. “Hey. Glad you got some sleep.”

You tried to move, but he didn’t budge, keeping you close. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… Doesn’t this hurt? Having me so close?”

He was still looking at you, and he gnawed on his lip a little before he answered. “It kinda hurt not having you close. So…” You stopped breathing for a moment, not sure of how to respond, and you could feel your cheeks grow warm. “I just mean… I don’t wanna lose you. I didn’t want something to happen, and have us in some strange place, but not together.” His jaw clenched a little as he hesitated, but you waited patiently for him to finish. “When we get home… I don’t want to lose you when we get home.”

“Dean, you won’t lose me.”

“I want to keep you close. I want you to stay. I want you to stay with me. And Sam.”

“Dean, I was staying with you and Sam.”

“I want us to be together, okay?” He turned his head away from you for a moment, then looked back into your eyes. “I want you and I to be more than just…” You looked back at him, speechless for the moment, and he leaned in. His lips were gentle against yours, and you felt yourself melting into him as his hand moved to your waist, then around to your back. He froze, then pulled back a little, his eyes narrowing in a confused expression as his hand explored further. “You slept with the backpack?”

“What? I didn’t want one of us to pop off with some smart-ass remark and end up in a different world, alone.”

His grin started off small, growing with each second, and he leaned back close to kiss you again. “Wouldn’t want that,” he said between nibbles, his tongue tracing over your bottom lip before he backed away, his eyes shining. “I need to get you home, the sooner the better.”

“Look, just because a girl lets you kiss her doesn’t necessarily mean she’s going home with you, Slick,” you smarted off with a grin, gasping a split second later when you felt the room spinning. “Not again!” you shouted, your voice echoing as you clutched at each other, the room fading from your sight.

***

When your head stopped whirling, you opened your eyes, afraid to look. But what you saw made you inhale sharply, sitting up as Dean struggled to do the same beside you. Dean’s weapons were displayed on the wall, his headphones on the bedside table, a plaid flannel shirt tossed over the back of a chair. “Dean! We’re…”  

“Don’t talk. Give me the backpack and don’t say anything yet.” He grabbed it from you and jumped up from his bed, sprinting from the room as you stared after him, too stunned to move. You recovered quickly and hurried to follow him, hearing a commotion in the storage room by the dungeon. You skidded to a stop as you entered, watching as he stuffed the entire backpack into a trunk with sigils covering its wooden surface. He slammed it shut, put the padlock through the hasp and closed it, then let out a huge sigh, visibly relaxing as you came closer.

“We made it. Oh, my god – we have to call Sam! He’s probably frantic,” you said, still panting from your run through the halls. Dean nodded, grabbing his phone from his pocket and dialing. “Sam – you’re not gonna believe this one. But we’re home, at the bunker. So head this way, the cursed whatever it was is locked down safe.”

“Are you okay? Y/N, is she okay?” You could hear Sam’s worried voice from where you stood, and it made you smile.

“Yeah. We’re fine, we’re good now. Just come home, we’ll explain when you get here.” Dean stuffed the phone back into his pocket and turned to face you. “So…  

You took a step back. “So… I’m going to take a shower. I’ve been in, I don’t know, several worlds now, and – I need a shower.”

Dean was advancing on you at the same pace that you were backpedaling, determination on his smiling face. “Fine. You do that, and then I’ll do that. And then…”

“Then, what?”

“Then we’re gonna get back to where we left off. After all, you did come home with me.” You giggled as you took off down the hall.

“Hope you brought that anaconda home with you!”


End file.
